Monday, 27 April 2015

For my A2 art project this year with my title being 'Ideals, Perfections, Flaws and Compromises', I've focused on the ideals within the world of technology, particularly looking at 'Apple', whom are renowned as a company for their clean-cut, minimalistic vision for product design. I ventured in to film making for this project, creating my first ever short in which I destroy a MacBook using a hammer. You see, this is the laptop that single handedly managed to delete my Foodtech GCSE coursework and English AS coursework the night before it was due, and eventually died on me the deadline day of an online portfilio submission for Uni. However, somehow it survived falling in to a bath which is still a mystery to me. Aside from thoroughly enjoying battering my old Mac to pieces, I'm pretty chuffed with how the film turned out, particularly due to the 'blood' that splatters out of the laptop whilst it's being destroyed which I achieved by dismantling the Mac, inserting red paint inside it and then putting it back together. In the making of this movie, I managed to entirely cover my present laptop and myself (from head to toe) in red paint, so for the rest of the day at school I was being stared at like I'd just committed a mass murder. This piece sums up the overall theme of my project, in which I attempt to destroy the perfect aesthetics that are presented throughout products in technology today, shattering the concept of an 'ideal' item. And so I present to you, Annihilation;

Thursday, 5 March 2015

Whilst queuing in line in Camden for three hours, letting my toes turn in to icicles and my face grow so numb that I could barely push out a sentence, I decided to lower my expectations of the surprise Kanye gig at Koko. In typical Ye style, the doors that were meant to open at 11 opened at 1, leading me to believe that my quest of somehow getting myself from Arkley to Camden in less than an hour would leave me not only with hypothermia, but also with a measly half an hour set from the genius himself. However, after I entered the club and somehow found myself within spitting distance from the stage, surrounded by the stereotypical Hypebeasts with a rumbling bass through my eardrums, my thoughts on what I was about to see were massively exceeded. Rather than using the night as an opportunity to show his usual egotistical self, which I admit I do strangely adore, Kanye altered all the norms from his usual style of performance. Firstly by breaking all conventional laws of supporting acts, mixing the work of other artists brought out including Skepta, JME, Meridan Dan, Novelist, Vic Mensa, Big Sean, Raekwon and Chyi da Prince, throughout the hour and a half long show rather than just at the beginning, creating a diverse but heavenly set list designed by the gods above. His new found support and involvement of the UK Grime artists, something that most would find highly unexpected, made the crowd roar even louder, causing an array of aggressive mosh pits to be formed throughout the night. Leaving behind the usual rants, elaborate visuals and prolonged instrumentals, Kanye stuck to a simple slideshow of religious medieval images with a bit of red and strobe lighting, putting his entirety of energy and enthusiasm solely in to his performance, giving the 1,500 audience members who made the show sell out within minutes exactly what they wanted rather than the pretentious material that most would've been waiting for. I found myself speechless afterwards, unable to comprehend wether I'd just woken up from a dream. After spending the last few weeks wincing every time I hear 'Only One' or 'FourFiveSeconds', wanting to blow out my brains whilst wondering what exactly Ye's playing at with this commercial musical vomit, Tuesday night completely restored my faith in the beast that is Kanye West. He's officially back and in my opinion, better than ever. Yeezy season is in full swing.

Monday, 2 March 2015

'50 Shades of Grey' is possibly the most talked about franchise of the century. When the god-awful books were released, I couldn't digest more than three pages without seriously considering killing myself due to the poor grammar, painstakingly slow plot and Key Stage 2 creative writing skills. However, I decided to go and see the film anyway, hoping that maybe my views would be changed. I was wrong. I can't admit that Jamie Dornan didn't make my heart race at all because at the end of the day I am a female with eyes and hormones. But all in all, sitting in a cinema in Garston, with a sea of strangers watching a good looking man who has a strange fetish for the use of weapons during sex and an urge to be a dominant male for two and a half hours is awfully uncomfortable. I actually found myself laughing at the ridiculousness of the plot. I know what you're thinking; 'It's only a movie', but really how is anyone meant to believe that a goody two shoes virgin would meet a psychotic billionaire and within a week basically agree to be his sex slave? Barely even hesitating at the fact that he has a built in 'playroom' in his luxurious apartment with every type of whip, handcuff and bondage item under the sun. Never mind the fact that the only reason this film is considered to be a romance is because of Mr. Grey's extortionate wealth, if he was unemployed living in a dingy basement it would immediately make the cut for a horrifying Criminal Minds story line, which is quite sad really. Seeing hairy vaginas on screen also isn't a delight for anyone and I almost regurgitated all of my pic 'n' mix as a result. I would advise you all to see the film anyway, not because it's of an even slightly high standard, but because nevertheless it's still extremely hilarious to watch, although I'm almost sure that the humour wasn't intentional which makes it even better.

Wednesday, 31 December 2014

2014 has certainly been a strange yet impactful year, particularly in the fashion industry. Whilst I cringe at the idea of looking over the year that's just flown by (and the people who post summarising collages or videos make me wish I didn't exist), before everyone gets paralytic tonight and can't remember their own name I thought it would be necessary to give my over view of the best and worst trends that we were blessed with this year. THE BEST

The superstar comeback:

If you're a shoe fanatic like myself, you'll obviously have a high appreciation for Adidas, particularly the Adidas Originals Superstar II that had it's ultimate comeback this year. These shoes are old-school perfection and have come back around at the perfect time.

The sheer:

I'm a huge material addict, last year leather was a big deal but this time around sheer has taken over. This see through, heaven-sent fabric adds so much excitement to any garment and of course makes life a lot funner having clothes that are basically see through.

The bob:Last year it all seemed to be about having never-ending locks, but the bob came back this year and I'm more than happy about it. Whilst personally I have a head much too basket-ball like for this style, I certainly love it and envy those who make it work so well.THE WORSTThe grillz:Now, if you're some sort of world renowned rapper with tattoos on your face and lyrics about getting money and killing people, I sort of get it. But to all the young teenagers who think that having thousands of pounds worth of gold and diamonds in their mouths helps their image, you're wrong. You quite simply look like a twat.The dyed eyebrows:This trend is more than acceptable if you're on a runway for a top designer at fashion week. But it baffles me that roaming around with neon hair on your face isn't a clear mistake to some people. Shout out to Pia Mia in particular, I hate you. The black lip:It's like the people who sport this horrific colour on their mouths want people to think they've just eaten some sort of animal faeces? As much as I can't get enough of wearing black, this is much too try-hard goth for my liking.Anyway, that's my overview of this year done and dusted. I hope you all have a great night, get completely shit faced and enjoy a wonderful new year.

Friday, 26 December 2014

It may come as a surprise to you all that I'm actually a huge Christmas lover. Whilst most would expect me to be a No.1 Scrooge, there's truly nothing I love more than the yearly necessary visit to Winter Wonderland, dazzling lights covering the entire of Central London or the 'It's Christmas' excuse to eat as much as I like for weeks on end. I spent the days leading up to this festive holiday in Amsterdam, which I quickly discovered to be the best place in the World. It's basically an adorable, drug filled heaven with an endless amount of waffles and a lot of cultural activities which we didn't get around to doing. However, no type of weed, hash brownie or magic mushroom could hide me from the worst thing about Christmas, the jumpers. Everyone seems to be wearing one. It's this time of year when all of the high-street brands change the tragic typical theme of their jumpers (using a sickening word, usually 'dope' or 'swag', with some sort of 'illuminati' symbol in an attempt to try and connect with the kids) and go down the snowy road towards Christmas Jumper doom. The designers, who I assume have no grasp on aesthetics, for some reason replace those revolting phrases with an even worse Christmas themed design, usually involving snowflakes, a reindeer/penguin/snowman and the classic ghastly red, white and green colour scheme. The worst part is they're everywhere. It's almost like some form of disease. Some of them even sing Christmas songs with the push of a button, usually hidden in the reindeers nose, or even have painfully embarrassing 'jokes' such as 'Tickle my baubles' or 'Jingle my bells' making them even worse, which I didn't think was possible. If you're a Christmas keeno and want to show the World your overwhelming love for arguably the best time of the year, that's a really nice thought, but to prevent your relatives from becoming blind at your Christmas Lunch, I suggest you rethink your clothing choice. I hope you all had a great Christmas and didn't have to endure too many of these monstrous jumpers over the holiday or didn't get one as a present (if you did, burn it).

Tuesday, 16 December 2014

Guess who forgot to move back in to the left lane on a dual carriage way during their second driving test? Me. Following this pathetic failure, I was also diagnosed with tonsillitis, so as you can see it's been a great week so far. Luckily for me it's only Tuesday. Even though I managed to leave a gaping hole in my bedroom door after yet another fit of rage, I decided that I hadn't yet entirely released my anger. So I have come back to the place where I find it the easiest to express my hatred towards the World. In a desperate attempt to forget about the last few days of my life, I thought I should tell you about my much more enjoyable weekend. Farringdon was where I ventured to last Friday night, and aside from the overly large pupils of 99.9% of the people at Fabric, there was one other thing that stuck out like a sore thumb. French plaits. Or braids, whatever you want to call them. They're long, there's two of them and they're certainly a problem. Now, I'm not going to argue completely against this trend which has been around since the days that I (yes, surprising, I know) performed in dance concerts, pretending to know what I was doing whilst waddling around completely out of time with the two left feet that I was blessed with. Although, it does sadden me that this innocent, adorable hairstyle has been transformed from something that you would see frequently on 'Dance Moms' in to the trademark for a try-hard 'raver' girl. These two plaits, so tightly stitched to the skull that they look as though migraines are part of the package when wearing them, wouldn't be a problem if paired with a decent outfit. However, along with this hair style seems to come the compulsory septum piercing, nike socks, studded fanny pack, vintage Levi jeans and of course, the no-ker. If you have the burning desire to do something different with your hair, trust me, I get it, (I had the same problem when I idiotically decided to shave a section of mine off a few years ago leaving me with a tuft of embarrassment where my undercut used to be). But please try and keep the outfit choice a tad less typically 'hipster' unless you're trying to tell the World that you think you're sick because you shop in Shoreditch, you have a tumblr, you like instagramming pictures of your lunches at quirky restaurants, you probably start your tweets with lower case letters and you most certainly partake in the use of drugs all in a hopeless bid to appear as a non-conformist. Off I go to drown myself in antibiotics.

Tuesday, 2 December 2014

Today, I took my first ever driving test. The minute that I saw the snooty woman, who I later found out to be the examiner from hell, that would be accompanying me on this nerve-wracking journey, I knew that I was set up for failure. One unnecessary slam on the brakes later from this conceited instructor, my predictions were revealed to be 100% correct. The only thing that kept me from slamming my head against the wheel, closing my eyes and letting the car swerve in to the back of a bus were the holy shoes that I was wearing, my Chukka's (Flyknit Chukka FSB's to be precise). These shoes are my newest prized possession, and aside from the fact that they look like they were created in heaven, having the most perfect combinations of greys, blacks and whites, they're also disgustingly comfortable. With these sock-like beauties there's no typical wounds left at the back of my feet, which one usually finds with new shoes, no meteor sized blisters and no limping the next day after the first wear. It almost shouldn't be possible to have a pair of trainers so weightless and light that you feel like you're walking, or driving, on clouds, but somehow it is. So, after my slight fit at the end of my test which included excessive yelling, revolting swearing and destroying my test sheet, I looked down at my feet and relaxed, remembering how much better my shoes were than hers. The ancient, shiny black plastic Clark's plimsoles with a velcro-strap that she had on reminded me of a pair that your mum would've made you wear in Primary School because they 'lasted long'. So whilst I may not be able to drive for another few weeks, at least my choice of shoes won't make anyone projectile vomit. Shout out to the old bag who failed me, if you somehow end up reading this, fuck you.

Sunday, 23 November 2014

Apart from the numerous selfies of girls at clubs, the only thing that I've seen all over Facebook, Twitter and Instagram for the last week are the pictures of Kim Kardashian posing naked for her appearance in 'Paper' Magazine, titled 'Break The Internet'. Whilst a few people are posting their admiration of Kim's renowned, and especially huge, derrière it's clear that the majority of the World have something to say against the reality star's decision to show the universe her birthday suit. Only one thing springs to mind when I see these endless speeches about how she's a mum, how she must have had tremendous amounts of plastic surgery or how the images are clearly photoshopped: Do you think she cares!? It's been reported that Kim made a ridiculous $43million from the magazine spread, so whilst the negative souls of the world decide to 'hate' (I almost vomited whilst writing that expression but I couldn't find a better way to put it), on Kardashian for her choice, I'm sure she's crying at night whilst wiping her now even more famous bum with fresh $500 notes. It would be great if the writers of the World could focus on real issues rather than comparing a celebrities arse growth through 'then and now' pictures to something as extreme and horrific as Ebola. All that these people are doing, either out of jealousy that she's created an empire for herself and her family from a sex tape or genuine disgust, is fuelling an even bigger following of Kim, which will inevitably give her even more success in her cleverly crafted career. She seems to know exactly what she's doing and I'm sure that one day she will thank you for making her even more famous. Rant over.

Monday, 13 October 2014

Apart from blogging and enforcing my hatred of 99% of the human race on to the World I actually do have other hobbies, one of them being photography which, surprise surprise, I'm taking for A Level. For my A2 project this year, I'm exploring the ideas of Anthropomorphosis and Zoomorphism, eventually leading on to the ideas of Greek Mythology. If you're sitting and wondering why, I'm afraid I don't have a sufficient answer, I just like the idea of making people into mythical creatures, it almost distracts me from the fact that I'm slowly drowning in a pile of work and still can't get to grips with Hazard Perception. To begin this photographic project, I decided to carry out a series of images inspired by the work of photographer William Wegman. I used my dog, Monty, as my subject in an attempt to create photographs that portray an animal with human characteristics. Thankfully he's almost a pro at modelling as a result of my Mum's fixation with posting endless photographs of him dressed up in all sorts of humiliating outfits for all of her excitable Facebook friends to 'like'. I've decided that these images are too adorable to keep to myself, so I hope you all enjoy them;

Thursday, 2 October 2014

Over the summer, I admittedly gave in to temptation and like every other girl in North London I bought a pair of the Topshop £20 snakeskin slip on shoes, yes, you know the exact ones I'm talking about. Reluctant at first to be wearing the same shoes as everyone else, this doubt was soon forgotten when I became aware of the wonders of this purchase and I have since begun my own little collection of slip ons. Whilst the initial pain of these shoes when first purchased can be somewhat unbearable, and an array of repulsive blisters on the backs of your feet is almost guaranteed, it doesn't stop them from being my favourite shoe style of the year so far. Apart from long walks/running, due to the high chance of getting your feet butchered, the slip ons are suitable for a million and one other occasions, just quite simply cool, and they go with basically absolutely everything (Apart from shorts, there's a high risk you'll end up looking like a tourist). So, if you don't mind feeling like there's glass embedded in your skin for a few days and you don't care about wearing those low cut socks that make your feet look somewhat deformed, try out the slip on and fall hopelessly in love just like I did;

Monday, 22 September 2014

Since the start of London Fashion Week, my days at school have been spent staring hopelessly at the bipolar British weather out of classroom windows. If it was raining and some somber Bon Iver was playing in the background I could've easily passed for one of those pretentiously moody characters straight out of a depressing indie film. My reasoning for this sulky behaviour has been my sheer irritation that rather than being at the best event of the year, I've been cooped up in school with constant reminders about UCAS and having to plan the rest of my life. Worryingly, I've found myself trying to plot a way to escape the compound at least four times a day and came up with no other option than to spend years digging my way out or risk getting my holy ID card taken away meaning no freedom (also known as the local high street) for me at lunch times. Anyway, Fashion week is a huge influence for style all over the world and gives talented designers a chance to show case their collections for the upcoming Spring/Summer season. Whilst Milan, New York and Paris fashion weeks have also been occurring, I decided to comment on one closer to home and have put together a few of my favourite looks from the collections I've been gawking at instead of doing my homework.

Saturday, 6 September 2014

For some strange reason that is entirely beyond me, the choker has sprung back in to fashion. These thin pieces of plastic which sit gripping worryingly closely to the skin of the neck bring particularly unpleasant images in to my head of dolphins stuck in plastic bottle packaging. To me they're not an edgy fashion statement, but just look simply painful and could almost pass as some sort of torture weapon. Trends often tend to confuse me. For example, when Jelly Shoes were re-vamped and made 'cool' again, I seriously questioned the World we live in and if Satan was behind the whole idea. This bemusement also occurred when those ghastly hidden heel trainers became a thing that people thought were acceptable to wear in public. However, plastic chokers are up there with the worst crazes around, which thankfully tend to die out pretty quickly. So, although maybe you relish in trying to look 'indie' by almost cutting off your oxygen supply, my personal overall opinion is that chokers should be demolished, simple as, take my advice if you wish.

Monday, 1 September 2014

September 1st marks the end of summer, those blissful few weeks in which your only commitment is getting significant tan lines to show off on your arrival home. For most, with this daunting day comes the promises of re-starting diets or gym memberships or vowing to work harder in the next upcoming school year. For me however, after two long years of silence I have decided to come back to my blog. My commitment to writing post after post faded once I realised that GCSE's were actually of some importance, and completely halted after I discovered that my older peers weren't joking about AS Levels being almost impossible. Although I'm begrudgingly about to head in to another year of non-stop work, I've decided that being so focused on pleasing these mysterious elves who mark my papers is actually quite pathetic for someone of seventeen. So hopefully coming back to the comfort of my blog will give me some sort of distraction from the World's fixation on grades. I'll be keeping you updated with my opinions on fashion trends, music, food, movies and other rubbish whilst attempting to learn to drive, plough through my A Levels, figure out what I want to do with my life and not go mentally insane. See you soon!H